


Merciful God

by mettaTONafun



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I'm trying _(」∠ ､ﾝ､)_, No Romance, Pacifist Frisk, Pacifist Route, Trust Issues, almost forgot that one yikes, attempted suicide, idk it gets weird, mentions of past emotional abuse, will add characters as it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mettaTONafun/pseuds/mettaTONafun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk is a stubborn, merciful, dreamy kid, and they're wonderful.</p><p>-<br/>How I saw the story/Frisk and went through the game the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merciful God

_"They'd had enough of living. They were ready to die."_  
  
     It was dark. It was so dark with the wind rushing through their hair and life was leaving them behind. The choice they'd made at the top of the mountain stuck with them; it was a determination lodged in the heat of their soul. A quick shattering of their bones and their burdensome body could turn to dust. How funny, even as they felt the earth about to swallow them up, a square of night sky glittered as far away as ever. So close to the End, and still no way to reach out from their decisions. And so they closed their eyes. And tried to sleep. It would only hurt for a second.  
  
     Feather light touches and jolts of pain dizzied their senses; a liquid darkness had swallowed everything and maybe they were blind. They wondered why, too hurt to move, until a square of light slowly outlined itself far above. How mocking, although they couldn't feel any injustice towards it. Their head spun in circles around the bitterness until it almost felt sweet. Then they would try to move again and a jabbing pain would shock them away from their right side. A sore ache climbed through their spine, but they could somehow still move their head. A confusing burst of sunlight... no, it was only flowers. The buttercups had broken their fall, but their efforts were in vain. Calling for help would be pointless even in the ever-brightening light. Cheerful flower pollen and drifting gnats flew across their weak vision as the world woke up. The fallen human just wanted to go back to sleep.  
     The soil rippled under their right arm and they let out a yowl of pain. They jerked away, rattling their bones even more. A sob caught in their throat. The ripple broke, and... a flower. It had a smiling face and waving leaves.  
     "Howdy! Little hurt there, eh?" They squinted blankly for a second, trying to register what was happening.  
     "I'm Flowey! Flowey the Flower!" They let their weight fall, staring back up at the patch of skylight.  
     "You must've dropped in. What's your name? .... .... Well, since you're new around here, let me show you how things work in the Underground. Whaddya' say?" Their head felt so heavy as they turned it to the creature. They looked into the friendly eyes, and no matter what was going on, they knew it was being kind. A smile tugged lamely at their mouth.  
     "I'll take that as yes," Flowey glanced to the side, "Well, down here, you get stronger by gaining LOVE. And you get LOVE from little..." Another glance, "Friendliness pellets... like these" Their smile dissolved, but only because it didn't make sense. What was it talking about? They squinted harder and saw them, little white pinpoints dancing around the flower. 'Heh... am I dead?' They could feel their soul glowing in their chest, like someone was tugging gently at it. Their breath came out a bit heavier with the strain of maintaining two forms; the blood-red heart softly rose high enough for both of them to see. It stubbornly pulsed with life above its broken body. The human gazed at it with undisguised wonder before looking back at the flower, an easy smile full of trust and curiosity. It almost seemed to wound it. The sickeningly sweet face smiled back quickly before shards of white pierced their vision, and sliced their soul. Burning sludge coursed through their veins and out their wounds- it was like being dropped into a bath of paper-thin glass shards. Their scream ripped through the open space. It echoed in their own ears with the bubbling cackle beside it. They couldn't see the flower's face, only hear it as they tried to twitch and yell away the pain. They threw their head from side to side, No, No, No! Glazed-over eyes stared at the life they lost, unseeing and wild.  
     "Welcome to Hell, human. Down here it's Kill or Be Killed." Grotesque laughter spilled uncontrolled from its mouth. Another friendliness pellet shattered into their soul; its fragments stabbed and sizzled. But they couldn't move. They couldn't move. This scream vaguely sounded like a call for help, but they couldn't form the word around their dry lump of a tongue. "What were you thinking, coming down here? Huh? Did you think it'd be... fun??" Its smile curled over yellowed, crooked teeth that beamed down at them as it leaned over. Its roots slid through the soil behind it, and then it froze.  
     A warm orange glow burned just out of view and the flower straightened. The smell of smoke rose as an undertone to the human's physical agony that kept wavering. It was tugging them into unconsciousness, but their soul just kept pulsing until it was a hum that was keeping them conscious. The bullets dissolved, leaving a bitter aftershock but not doing much to quell the hurt. Another soft touch added to those of the buttercups; a paw cradled their cheek.  
     "Oh... Oh dear one, sweet, innocent one... you are in so much pain. Do not sleep yet, my child. I will help to heal you," The other paw busily searched the body for the most prominent breakages, "Your soul," The wandering paw lightly traced it's shape, "It will be fine. Drink this." The stranger pulled something from their belt and tried to tip it gently against their lips. They clenched in protest, and the human shook their head wildly.  
     "You must, that thing injured your soul, child." As carefully as they could, the paws pried open the other's jaws and let a sip drip down their throat. The stinging and humming died down, if only a bit. They relaxed into the offering until it was empty. The red glow loftily settled into its host.  
     "There... much better, right? Now, let's see about your wounds," The voice was so calm and sweet, but the human couldn't trust it, "You fell on your arm, and your back must be sore." They shrunk away from the probing touches, eyelids fluttering.  
     "I am so sorry, my child. Do not be afraid. You may sleep now if you like, while I set your arm. Now, it may be a bit uncomfortable for awhile but..." Against all their inner protests, the human's eyes fell shut. The strain of surviving had been too much.  
     They started awake not long after, in the same place but washed in noon lighting. A quilt was strewn over them and the flowers, so down trailed them as they sat up. The human's gaze traveled from their bandaged arm to the figure leaning against the cave wall.  
     "Thank goodness, you're awake. I didn't want to startle you by moving you to my home. I hope... I hope you weren't too uncomfortable there." They couldn't seem to look directly at the makeshift bed. They moved to sit closer, but not close enough to touch,  
     "I am Toriel, I live close to this place. What is your name?" They looked at their usable hand, but there was no gurantee this creature would understand ASL. Its fur glistened almost as much as its deep, black eyes. Wisdom and worry had etched themselves into its face. Well, once a flower smiles at you, you've pretty much got culture shock immunity. There was no reason to trust this thing, no matter how kindly it stared back.  
     "... Frisk." They couldn't help but smile weakly, eyes alert but ready to rest.  
     "That's a lovely name." She grinned and her teeth weren't sharp.

     With the helpful stranger's shoulder to lean on Frisk was able to walk to Home; she dusted the petals from their clothing and prompted them to speak. In return, they tried signing a simple sentence to see if Toriel understood. She immediately signed a response, but it was clumsy and they let her know she should stick to talking. It got a giggle. After they limped into neat little house, Frisk was able to rest in the dusty room full of other kid's memories. There was a lot of staring at the ceiling in the dark, and the next morning the pillow was still damp with tears of confusion and soul-crushing sorrow. There were two glow stars barely visible over the bed, and 55 cracks; they counted anything they could see to try to focus their thoughts. That place, it couldn't be trusted. They couldn't accept the soft, clean scent of the sheets. They really, really wanted to.  
The first time they fell asleep, tiny white dots and foggy memories of razor blades attacked at once. They stabbed and zapped to the chorus of bone-chilling laughter. Their eyes snapped open to find their own hand wrapped around their neck and the burn of scratch-marks above the bandages. The next time, they had to get up from the sweat-soaked sheets. It was still hard to walk the short distance to the kitchen. The sink had goat hair stuck in it, but the tap ran clear and cold. Unexpected footsteps from behind shocked them into shaking their glass,  
     "Frisk?" It fell, shattered. They frantically tried to sign an explanation.  
     "My child, it is fine... Would you like to sit with me awhile? I could not sleep either." Toriel's limbs moved sluggishly and her knees creaked in protest to building a fire, but her eyes were bright. Human and monster stared at the flickering flames from the table across the room. It warmed them with sizzles and pops, but the scent of smoke chilled Frisk; they tapped the other's arm that rested on the table. How? Why? It was hard to fit all of their questions in. Toriel put her hand up,  
     "Here, let us try this. You'll ask a question, then I will. It will give you time to think of your next one, and for me to collect my thoughts," Though they were bright, her eyes drooped at the sides, "Does that sound alright?" Frisk nodded and looked past her shoulder. The flames prompted their first question.  
     "My fire?" She gazed at her folded hands, "It is apart of my Soul, you could say. Most monsters have this magic. Or, a similar one I mean. The Soul is a creature's, monster or human's, very being. You saw your own when... well. Hm? Slow down, my child, my question first." She paused, "I found you in your nightshirt, and the entrance is so far from any towns. Did that thing... well, somehow, anyway, did it take you from your home?" Frisk shifted from leaning eagerly towards her answers and gazed at the fabric. The deep blue seemed softened by the lighting, but they could still see that some of the stitched stars were coming loose. No point in getting dressed for your death. They shook their head.  
     "Your question?" What is this place? Why are monsters here? I didn't think they were real. "That. It is a tough question. I have many books about it. Our king gave this place the name," She rolled her eyes, "the Underground. We were banished here by your kind, many, many years ago. A war had destroyed both kinds, it had damaged our spirits and shattered countless Souls. This place, where we are in the Underground, is the Ruins. Not many monsters still live here, most went with out king to a New Home. Those monsters. They blame humans. They hate them blindly. So much so that they want to use terrible, inept methods to destroy the barrier that holds us here and..." The two held each other's gaze, "Oh innocent one, I apologize. I cannot tell you this, and so late at night. Instead, I will ask you a question." Frisk held their breath, preparing to lie or avoid it somehow.  
     "Butterscotch or Cinnamon?" A tired smile, "I do not want to make a pie you won't enjoy." They hesitated, but a relieved grin had already bloomed. Either is fine. "Lovely." They smiled through their next question. About yourself? Are you a... goat?  
Toriel laughed,  
     "Well, in a way. I am much bigger than the usual goat. And, well, there's not much to tell. I'm just a silly old lady who wants to be a teacher. I collect books and read them, I keep order around the Ruins. I bake. Which brings me to my next question. Any allergies? I hope not snails, they're a bit of a staple in my kitchen." They cringed. Snails? Ick.  
     "Oh no!" You really eat those slimy things?  
     "They're really not so slimy once you cook them. They're quite good, I think." Now they were both laughing, its sound filling the comfy room in the cramped space of the Ruins. The question game died out because they were both too tired to really continue it. Besides, the human could just read the books she had. Once they were awake, that is. The sight of her curling fur filled their vision- they must've dozed off.  
     "Sorry, my child. Just helping you to your room. If you're okay with me calling it that." She looked sheepish, a confusing analogy but accurate. Frisk stopped leaning on her and found themselves at the door to their room.  
     Yes, that's okay.  
     

     The night and next day were unhurried and pleasant. Toriel presented a beautiful butterscotch-cinnamon pie for lunch (they'd slept through breakfast) and they explored a bit outside. That's how most days went, with more snails the longer it was. Frisk's open trust, and open wounds, mended in the cool twilight of the caverns. That's one of the first things outsiders might notice about the Underground; it was so dark. The crisscrossing cracks above would range from inches to ones no thicker than thread, and they'd let in even the daylight as an undecided glow. Candles usually dotted the shelves and kitchen counter; only the end of the hall and the staircase remained dark. These areas were off-limits- for storage, apparently. It didn't matter that much.  
Toriel brought a soothing presence into whatever room they shared. She'd knit or read with them in the living room, and there was always a new book for her to recommend. None of the books explained the monsters' history like she'd said. Or at least, none of the ones on the shelves. When they weren't doing that, they were tagging along behind Toriel. She settled disputes between the locals with the grace of a queen.  
    

_"She knitted them a sweater. They were so happy when they put it on."_

  
     The memories Frisk hid pried their eyes open early in the morning. Sometimes they powered through days without sleep, focusing on studying and relaxing into conversations with the neighbors. Once Toriel found them curled around a Moldsmal who seemed to understand life a little better. She allowed them to wander alone because all the monsters knew that entering a Fight with the injured human would end in boss mode. The locals weren't what was worrying her; she knew the human must have been hurting, but they just wouldn't open up. Maybe they couldn't. It had only been a month. Their arm and shoulders had mostly healed, but their limp persisted.  
    

_"They knew they had to go back there. Just once."_  
     

     The light slithered around the corners and snapped at their feet. They wore the striped sweater like armor, brandished a stick like a weapon. Into the sunlight. The flowers had grown back were they'd been crushed, and the air hummed with stillness. Now that they could see the room clearly, it looked vaguely familiar. It felt like a graveyard.  
    

_"That's when they found me, I think."_  
     

     That night, a presence echoed in their head.  
     

 _"You are the future of humans and monsters."_  
     

     Candlelight flickered over the blue-washed room. It was the first and last time that Toriel would leave them alone for a night. They didn't want to betray her trust anymore than they already were; their footsteps were light and quick. To the dusty shelves they'd only seen in passing, trailing behind their guardian like a duckling. A hand seemed to guide their own, reaching above the hazy yellow sphere of light. The warmth coated their hand, and it lead it to leather-bound book.  
     The next day, Toriel made a cinnamon pie for breakfast and Frisk had a question.

     Am I ever going to leave the Ruins?


End file.
